


wrinkles

by ghostmachine



Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Carmilla - Fandom
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-22 18:04:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12487648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostmachine/pseuds/ghostmachine
Summary: Carmilla learns slowly that mortality is made of little differences.





	wrinkles

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been really into writing these short works lately—let me know if you’re into it or not. 
> 
> Also. We get a movie. In two days. Pretty dang special.

It’s a Friday night and Laura’s hand is scratching absentmindedly through your hair, her hand splayed out of your stomach. Like most Fridays it’s a horror movie until the horror becomes too close to reality for Laura, until she disengages and pulls the ends of your hair in a more meaningful way. Tonight, though, she is silent, maybe asleep; but when you glance a look at her you catch her staring back. 

Staring like there’s something to figure out. The same face she makes when doing research for work in your bed, her lips screwed up tight and her golden eyes narrowed. 

“What?” you ask lazily, masking insecuriry with a tried and true apathy. 

“It’s just...” she starts, shaking her head almost disbelievingly—and then so much more timid, her face softening, “you’re starting to get some wrinkles. Did you know? Just around your lips here.” 

And she traces them, these lines she’s just discovered, and a part of you feels nauseous the way you do when you remember that you are no longer immortal. No longer impenetrable but a thing to be molded, shaped by time and perception and sleep cycles. 

First it was the dark circles, the bags under the eyes, when Laura would joke that you looked more undead alive than you had as a vampire. Other things, a twinge in the knee, a slight blurring of vision—things you keep from Laura because you wouldn’t want her to worry but mostly because you do not want to admit what this 300 year old vessel has become. A home, yes, but a thing once built of steel now rotting wood, made to decay like clockwork. 

Laura’s hands are soft when she pulls them away, leans in to kiss the lines around your lips, the ones you’ve gotten as some sort of punishment for smiling her way so often. And you feel warm inside where before you were ice, feel Laura’s eyelashes flutter against your cheeks, feel yourself blush when she whispers how beautiful you are. 

Tomorrow in the warm morning light you’ll study yourself in the mirror and trace these lines for yourself, try to see yourself truly as something that will not last, but tonight you will tuck Laura under your arm and make the lines a little deeper.


End file.
